


Moving Base

by RedBlackandBold



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Domestic, Friendship/Love, M/M, Post Game, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBlackandBold/pseuds/RedBlackandBold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeego's never been keen to call his apartment home. It's a base, a drop-of point; it's where his bed is and where he can throw stuff he doesn't need. In fact, he isn't really sure if he's ever even had a home. Yet when he finds himself spending more and more time with the man he used to call his rival, he discovers he may have one, after all.</p><p>Set in the endgame timeline. As domestic as you can plausibly get for people who murder for a living.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He stumbles to Tengo’s apartment simply because there is no other place he can go. He isn’t a wanted man, exactly, but with the people he’s killed and the connections they had he’d be dead by morning if he showed up in a hospital. HQ certainly wouldn’t have resources, either. You either do your job right or you suffer the fatal consequences, in their eyes – survival of the fittest.

Besides, Tengo is the only person in this godforsaken city he can even remotely trust.

He’d try to pound on the door like he normally would, but the strength he had was put to use in just getting to the building. The adrenaline rush is long gone, the remainder of his energy oozing out of the hole in his forearm at what should probably be considered an alarming rate – he doesn’t know. He’s too tired to care. He waits a few long moments braced against the door before feebly calling out. There are a few more moments before he hears quiet, shuffling footsteps making their way towards the front door.

It takes a surprising amount of strength to push himself off the door as Tengo opens it. A disjointed “Jeego, what the hell, it’s quarter to two” greets him, and he answers it with a wry smile. Tengo glares at him but steps aside to let him in. His rival-slash-frenemy-slash-sometimes-partner is decked out in an old t-shirt and worn out pajama bottoms, glasses absent, normally disheveled hair now sticking up at impossible angles. He’d obviously gone to bed hours ago. Jeego half expected him to be in one of those silk bath robes, the pretentious prick. He does his best to keep steady as he saunters his way to the couch, throwing his hat and gun on the counter as he walks by.

Tengo’s apartment is, as usual, the perfect antithesis of Jeego’s. It’s bright (even without sunlight streaming through the wide windows) and clean, the sparse modern furniture giving it the image of an apartment you’d find in a magazine, except for the slight disorganisation scattered throughout the rooms. The first time he stepped foot inside, he had incredulously asked how Tengo could afford all of it on a salary they could barely skate by on. “Chinese bootlegs are beautiful things,” he had said. “As are savings accounts.”

“Needed a place to crash for the night.” He falls onto Tengo’s couch, trying his hardest to make it appear casual, and not out of exhaustion. Thank god it’s black. Blood stains barely show up on black fabric. “Yours is a lot closer ‘n mine. Knew you wouldn’t mind.” He tosses a smirk over his shoulder, just able to make out Tengo’s unimpressed stare from where he stands at the counter.

“I suppose I’ll allow it,” Tengo replies, plucking his thick-rimmed glasses from the counter, throwing Jeego’s hat on his gun to both hide the shining weapon and to keep the hat from falling. “But just this once. Can’t just show up to a man’s apartment unannounced in the middle of the night and expect hospitality.” Jeego hums in reply, picking at the tear in his sleeve. Jeego isn’t sure if it’s an empty threat, but it sounds like one; he’s shown up at an odd hour once or twice before, and Tengo’s allowed him to stay with a minimum amount of grumbling. Those instances were rather… drunken, on both their parts. Tengo shuffles over to the couch, shoving his glasses on haphazardly, his own way of rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He blearily watches Jeego, now sprawled out, shoes off, jacket discarded. “I thought all the bars around here closed at midnight on weekdays, not--”

Tengo stops cold, getting a good look at the state of his rival for the first time. He blinks owlishly, and dashes off without a word down a hallway and into the bathroom. Jeego can’t muster up anything besides a laugh of disbelief at the act ( _He can’t stand the sight of blood? You fuckin’ kidding me? No wonder the bastard’s a sniper_ ), but not a moment later Tengo’s back, carrying an armful of bandages and a bowl filled with water. “Roll your sleeve up or take your shirt off,” he commands, dumping everything on a coffee table, and Jeego’s too surprised to protest. It’s less painful to unbutton his shirt than to drag fabric over the wound, so his ruined shirt is soon next to his jacket on the floor. Tengo’s pulled up a kitchen chair, and he makes Jeego sit up so he can get to work.

At first, Tengo doesn’t say anything, all his attention focused on cleaning the deep cut on his rival’s forearm. Jeego tries his best to stifle pained gasps and strings of curses, but it’s yet another mask they can both see through. Eventually his arm is clean, wrapped, and bleeding a lot less than it had been. He briefly wonders where Tengo had picked up this sort of knowledge. Then again, he’s not called “One Step Ahead” for nothing.

“How.” It isn’t a question, it’s a command. Tengo wrings out the rag, washing it into a soft pink. He drops the rag back into the murky bowl and balances his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers, one eyebrow quirked, and watches him evenly. Jeego can barely make out his expression (he’s affectionately nicknamed it “ _Judging You_ ”), so he’s lucky he knows it well; the world’s gone blurrier than usual, and that’s saying something.

“It’s not because I couldn’t see,” he begins scathingly, knowing that it’s the first and foremost thought in the sniper’s mind. “Someone must‘ve tipped off my mark. When I turned up, fucker had brought along this big lug of a guy and was hiding behind the oaf like he was his mom or something.”

“Did you ever consider that your target wasn’t tipped off, but paranoid? This is why recon is important,” Tengo says cooly.

“In any case, mommy had a gun.” Jeego’s begun to pick at the bandages wrapped tightly around his arm, the memory of the pain burning almost as harshly as it had upon first impact as he recounts the events of the night. “Bastard was a pretty good shot, too. I dunno how I managed to hit my mark once shots were fired, but I did. As you can see, I didn’t make it out clean,” he concludes with a grimace.

Tengo scoffs. “It’s little more than a graze. I’d hardly consider that a worthy tale. I suppose you’re luckier than you think.” He pauses for a moment, and Jeego swears he can see his eyebrows crease together. “It’s a rather deep graze, I’ll give you that… It’s sure to give you trouble in the morning.” He reaches up to fix his hat as he stands, a gesture meant to signify the end of a conversation, but finding none, runs a hand through his hair. “There’s a duvet or two in the square basket under the table,” he says as he carries his chair back into the kitchen.

Jeego tugs one out of the black-stained wicker and slowly lies himself down. He hears glass clinking and water running from where Tengo is in the kitchen, and realises how dry his mouth is.

“Can you get me a glass, too?” he calls.

“Get it yourself.”

Jeego sighs heavily, but props himself up. Unfortunately, the moment he manages to stand, the world starts to spin and a new wave of pain burns through his shoulder. He winces and quickly lowers himself back on to the couch. _Whatever. I didn’t really need it anyway_ , he thinks, eyes shut tightly to brace himself against the pain.

As it fades, he opens his eyes to find Tengo walking into focus, a glass of water and some white object in his hands. When he sets them on the end table, the white thing rattles. “Aspirin,” he clarifies, popping the cap. “I suggest you take it with you tomorrow. Sith isn’t going to grant you sick leave or a reduced work load because of a graze.” Jeego nods and numbly takes two, starting to lose the fight against exhaustion.

“If you wake me up at any time tonight, under any circumstance, you’ll wake up outside,” Tengo says over his shoulder as he walks back to his bedroom.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeego grumbles. He settles in as best he can on the flat couch, and, with a sigh, shuts his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after last night's strange events is reading as awkward as... Well, a morning after. At least he isn't passing out on the furniture again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, super special thank yous to my wonderfulamazing beta, Yomz! She was ESPECIALLY helpful in my floundering throughout the editing of this particular chapter.

Jeego wakes to the sound of running water. Figuring it’s whoever-the-hell-lives-above-him getting ready for work, he stretches and rolls over to catch another half hour of sleep before he really actually needs to drag his ass out of bed.

Or, he tries. The moment he so much as moves his shoulder an inch he’s greeted by a howling, burning reminder of the events of last night. It’s all he can do to keep in the cry of pain that bubbles up his throat as he sits himself up and hunches over, doing anything he can to keep pressure off his arm. The fire fades to a dull roar as he silently goes over the details of what happened in his head.

Okay, he’s in Tengo’s apartment. And neither of them are drunk. Especially not Tengo. And even though it’s morning, he isn’t outside or on the floor. Jeego suddenly realises he hasn’t seen Tengo since the night bef-- oh, water running, he’s in the shower, okay.

Weird. Surreal, even.

As Jeego shifts his position, he’s given yet another reminder of why he ended up on his rival’s couch in the first place and comes to the conclusion that the aspirin’s worn off. Tengo’s been kind enough (or forgetful or careless enough, but that seems equally unlikely) to leave the bottle out -- open, thank the gods -- on the coffee table. He takes two and lets himself space out until they kick in. It’s not as if he needs to do much to get ready, anyway; as soon as he throws on his shirt and jacket, he’s set.

In the ten minutes it takes for the aspirin to do its job, he takes full stock of his situation. Both his jacket and his shirt are torn, and he should probably change the blood-soaked bandages wrapping his arm. It’s a pretty long walk from Tengo’s place to work, but he doesn’t have a car nor can he drive safely in any fashion. And the water’s stopped. He sighs, and takes everything one at a time.

There are ways to temporarily hide the tear in his jacket, which will cover up the tear in his shirt, so he doesn’t need to worry about that. Next. Tengo’s first aid kit is going to be a bitch to find, and he knows he’s going to do a clumsy job of re-wrapping everything, but there’s not much else he can do for it, is there? As for the commute… Well, walking’s gonna suck, and he may pass out a couple of times on the way, but there’s not much he can do about _that_ , either.

He gives up on finding the first aid kit and is in the process of buttoning his shirt when Tengo steps into the front hall (fully clothed but for his jacket, shoes, and hat), towel-drying his hair. “Thought I’d make sure you were awake, and/or still alive.” There’s a pause, and Jeego’s certain that Tengo will wander back into his bedroom, leaving him to his own devices like every other time Jeego’s woken up in the man’s apartment. He can’t remember if Tengo so much as _spoke_ to him, last time. Granted, it had been months since their last drunken, rivalry-fueled endeavor. Their rivalry had sort of… Dissipated, since then.

Yet, Tengo lingers. He looks as if he wants to say something -- wants to say a lot of somethings, if Jeego’s reading the knitted brow correctly -- but without any further action, he sighs and walks into the kitchen. Jeego refocuses on getting at least his shirt on (even he recognises it’s a little impolite to be half naked at a riva-- no, frien-- no, a... a whatever-the-hell-Tengo-was’s house), half-listening as Tengo shuffles things around the counter space. Then, he abruptly stops.

“You didn’t… Were you planning to shower any time soon?”

“Not really,” Jeego admits, picking at the rip in his sleeve absent-mindedly.

“Seriously?” Jeego can’t see it, but he’s sure Tengo’s wearing the Judging You expression again. “Please take one.”

Jeego frowns. “I will. At some point.”

“Now would be a good point. It’s a quarter after seven, and commute is twenty minutes. You know how traffic gets.” No, Jeego doesn’t know how traffic gets; it’s never been an issue, since he can’t actually drive. He walks into the hallway and pulls a towel out of a closet Jeego hadn’t noticed and tosses it into the bathroom. “Water’s probably still hot, even.”

Jeego sighs defeatedly and stands, deciding it’s too early and he’s too exhausted to put up a fight. He shuffles into the bathroom and locks the door behind him, fingers finding buttonholes the moment it’s closed. He’s only past a few buttons when he thinks that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to figure out how the shower works, before he has to ask for help undressed. It’s surprisingly similar to his own shower (albeit much cleaner and better maintained), so he quickly sheds the remainder of his clothing and steps in.

The water burns, at first, but he soon finds himself relaxing under the stream. For a short, blissful moment, he loses himself. It’s only when he reaches for a bottle of shampoo that smells a lot sweeter than anything he’s ever even thought of owning does reality encase him once again. He sighs and slams the faucet to turn it off, and sighs harder when he realises he had subconsciously used the just-as-sweet-smelling soap.

He’s foregone buttoning up his dress shirt when he steps back out, doubting that even Tengo would be offended by an undershirt. Tengo’s at the kitchen table (jacket, shoes, and hat now on), having laid out the morning’s newspaper in front of him and is going through the obituaries with a blue sharpie. At first, Jeego’s sure that he’s highlighting the articles that were his own doing (arrogant prick), but before he can further contemplate the assumption, Tengo notices his presence and glanced up.

“I’m marking anything with suspected foul play.” Another paragraph is boxed in blue. “The police, of course, won’t do anything,” he continues with a wry smile, “but the poor soul’s loved ones may want… A bit of vengeance.” He folds the paper in an off-handed fashion. “And if they happen to get it wrong the first time, more work for us, right?” He looks up to meet Jeego’s eyes, but his gaze instead falls disapprovingly on his shoulder.

“I changed the bandages,” Jeego states plainly. He isn’t really sure why it took him so long to figure out the first aid kit was in the bathroom, but it was, so he had made quick work of his shoulder once he was dressed. Even he would admit it was a rather shoddy job, though. It’s not like he has much experience in these sort of matters, as it were; he’s used to causing damage, not _fixing_ it.

“I can’t even properly say there was an attempt,” Tengo says through a sigh. “You’re going to bleed through everything near your shoulder by the end of the day.”

Jeego scoffs. “What, like you could do a better job?”

“I could, and I will. Gods know _you_ won’t.” The sniper rises, and Jeego automatically takes a step back.

“You come anywhere near me and I’ll break your fuckin’ neck,” he snaps. He huffs and crosses his arms, and he can swear Tengo murmurs something that sounds like “personal space issues, much.” As if he can talk. Bastard’s the jumpiest guy he’s ever met. “Look, just-- I rushed. I’ll just redo it, okay? I’ll even do it out here so you can make sure I’m doin’ it right,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm and contempt.

Surprisingly, Tengo hums his assent, and Jeego can’t do anything but stare. He’s still muttering expletives in disbelief as he slides the red box off of the bathroom counter which only taper off once he’s dragging a chair away from the kitchen table where Tengo has picked up his paper again. “Don’t scratch my flooring,” Tengo intones as Jeego twirls the chair around to lean his arms against the back. It takes every ounce of willpower Jeego has not to respond scathingly, but he powers through temptation as best he can. Making faces doesn’t count, right? Tengo’s eyes narrow, peering over his newspaper, and Jeego decides that they do if the other person sees.

He grins back at Tengo and returns to the task at hand, pulling a roll of medical tape out of the box on the counter. It proves impossible to suppress the wince of pain that comes with unwrapping the mass of bandage he’s wound haphazardly around the scrape. Tengo’s set his newspaper down again, and is watching Jeego with his steepled fingers resting against his mouth. Jeego blinks and tears a small piece of tape from the roll at hand, slowly working his way through painful process of wrapping the raw skin. Tengo clears his throat.

“That’s really not how it’s done, you know.” Jeego stops short, waiting for Tengo to continue. All pride aside, he knows Tengo’s knowledge of treating these things bests his own, even if taking his advice does involve letting someone else tell him what to do. The sniper’s expression briefly flickers to one of amused surprise, but he lowers his hands and continues. “Alright. Well, you need at least two other layers on that if you don’t want the wrappings to rub against it. At best, that will cause severe irritation, and at worst it’ll reopen the scrape and you’ll be bleeding as if you’d just been hit. Those kind of wrappings are used to keep gauze in place, not pressed directly on to the injury.”

“ ‘Kay,” Jeego says slowly as he takes everything off again. “So… Gauze. Just, like… A square, taped down?”

“No, not yet. You need to get antibiotic ointment on that, first. There’s polysporin in the box.”

Jeego finds the tube almost immediately, and grimaces as the cold gel meets his skin. “Eugh, it’s fuckin' _weird_.”

“It’ll keep the gauze from irritating anything.” Tengo quirks an eyebrow. “You used too much.” Jeego growls, but scoops some of it off and rubs it into the counter. Tengo sighs heavily. “Real mature.”

“Not like it’s going to hurt the counter. Isn’t this stuff a disinfectant?” He snickers and digs through the red box, looking for gauze pads and a small pair of scissors as Tengo rolls his eyes.

From there, he’s led through the rest of the process. The gauze is cut carefully (“Little too much”) and taped down (“It’s crooked, that’s going to tug on raw skin and sting worse than it did in the first place”). The final layer is wrapped around everything the right way eventually (“You can go tighter than that, otherwise the gauze might fall out”).

Tengo gives him a teasing smirk as Jeego tugs on the last part to secure it. “Congratulations. You’ll live.”

Jeego snorts, inspecting his handiwork. “Hey, s’better than our medic could do, yeah?” Tengo gives an exaggerated shudder at the mention of the man before laughing. He glances at the clock above his stove and stands.

“C’mon, we better get going,” he says, fishing through a drawer and pulling a keychain out of it. “You know full well Sith will have our heads if we’re late.”

Jeego blinks. “Wait, _we_?”

“Yes, _we_.” He closes the first aid box and sets it just inside the bathroom, then crosses to his front door. “What, you really think you’d be able to walk five miles to work today?” Jeego’s about to offer a rebuttal, but Tengo cuts him short by holding up his hand. “You would faint a third of the way there.”

Jeego’s sentiments exactly, but hearing them echoed by the sniper makes the whole ordeal sound patronizing. “I’ll be fine,” he says gruffly as he drags the chair he was using back to the table.

“ _Don’t_ scratch my flooring,” Tengo repeats, narrowing his eyes. “Is this a pride thing or something? Look, I’m not going to let you hurt yourself like that because you were too haughty to accept a bit of help. That's stupid."

Jeego shrugs on his jacket, pulling his hat and gun towards him from where they’ve been sitting on the counter. “I’ve already accepted enough of your help.”

“Now you’re just being contrary.”

He huffs in reply. There’s an element of truth to that, but he isn’t about to admit it. “...Fine.” Tengo nods and opens the door, waiting for him to follow.

“You mess with _anything_ in my car and I will murder you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha this took much, much longer than expected (apologies times a millon). I don't know why this chapter gave me so much trouble, but hey, you guys get an extra chapter out of it! I had to move a good majority of the events to an entirely seperate one which will hopefully be out muchmuchmuch sooner than this one.

**Author's Note:**

> Super special thanks to my AMAZING beta Yomz for nitpicking this with me!


End file.
